Thinking on these things . . .

It is the time for Communion. Of stopping and remembering. Of confession and celebration. I have always had an affinity for communion. As a child it was the only ceremonial thing my church participated in – the passing of the gold trays with the broken crackers and the little plastic cups of grape juice. As an adult it’s a time to pause amid all the doing and remember why I do what I do. To remember that my service comes from love because of the love that flowed freely for me from the Cross. Only recently have I experienced communion by intinction – that is to say when you come forward and take the bread and dip it in the juice. The first time I participated in communion this way, the pastor holding the cup looked into my eyes and said, “The blood of Christ shed for you.” I heard those words as if they were the first time. Sunday I found myself holding the plate with the bread, and saying to each one that came, “The body of Christ broken for you”. I have sung for congregations, and tau...

I am getting spring fever just as surely as I am sitting in a resin chair by my garden on a 68-degree March day in Chicago. Around me the green stalks are swollen, pregnant with buds just waiting for a few more days of warmth and sun until they will reveal their cheerful yellow faces. Two and a half crocuses remain after their premature entrance last week. A two-inch overnight snow was their demise, and even though it was gone as quickly as it had accumulated, the new growth was lost. Their brief sojourn, though, clearly sent the message: “Winter is passing and spring is coming. Soon all things will be new and the hidden underground growth through the dark winter days will be evident. The optimism of new life will defeat the despair of winter.” My shoes are sitting next to me and I feel the matted greening grass under my happily unshod feet. Spring is coming! Spring is coming! The winter has been cold and dark with biting winds, and the ground frozen and impenetrable. I have hudd...

My Bible got coconut creamed today. Just like anyone actively involved on a Sunday morning, I had been carrying a bag full of stuff: Bible, Sunday school lesson, speakers for the MP3 player, two flavored coffee creamers, assorted pens and pencils. So somewhere along the way the coconut creamer met the pages of my Bible and my Bible got creamed! Augh! Oh, that feeling, that sinking, shoulder slumping, disappointed feeling: where you just look and sigh. And then the action to fix it, grabbing the paper towels and mopping up the sticky creaminess, separating all the pages and drying them off and as you're cleaning it up, at the same time realizing the extent of the damage. Now this is not a big deal. -- To the rest of the world. But it was my BIBLE. MY Bible. The one I use all the time. It's not that there aren't a half-dozen other Bibles around the house, it's that it's my Bible, the one with all the notes in it, the one with all the verses underlined that have jumped...